


Hold On Pain Ends

by CaptainBlood



Category: Football RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Bayern München, Borussia Dortmund, Champions League, Comfort/Angst, FIFA World Cup 2014, Football, Football | Soccer, Forbidden Love, German National Team, Injury, M/M, Major Character Injury, Other, Pain, Post-Match, what a cheesy tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-16 17:39:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2278725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainBlood/pseuds/CaptainBlood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'No, this was not happening.' </p><p>Mario grimaced as he watched Marco fall, time seemingly slowed, almost to a halt until the blond man's body hit the soft terrain beneath their feet. The blond yelped as he clung to his ankle, the same one that had robbed him of his World Cup glory. Mario blinked, hoping this was just his mind playing tricks on him; but the referees blow of the whistle made it all to real. Yes, this was indeed happening before his very eyes, and not for the first time.</p><p>-A spin on the Germany vs. Scotland match.-</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First off:
> 
> 1.) Charlie Mulgrew isn't a bad guy, I'm just making him out to be one.  
> 2.) I still find it odd Reus warned everyone about the Scots, and coincidentally gets injured.  
> 3.) This isn't finished.  
> 4.) This is a work of fiction, ergo, most of this is just made up by yours truly.  
> 5.) That is all, enjoy! <3

'No, this was not happening.' 

Mario grimaced as he watched Marco fall, time seemingly slowed, almost to a halt until the blond man's body hit the soft terrain beneath their feet. The blond yelped as he clung to his ankle, the same one that had robbed him of his World Cup glory. Mario blinked, hoping this was just his mind playing tricks on him; but the referees blow of the whistle made it all to real. Yes, this was indeed happening before his very eyes, and not for the first time. He forgot all aspects of the match as he sprinted to his best friends side, one look into the man's face said more than a thousand words ever could. By just catching a glimpse of the agony brandished across Marco's face, Mario feverishly waved the medical staff over. Seeing as he was in good hands, he leaned down and pressed his warm palm to the blond's face.

“You're going to be fine, Marco. I promise.” He cooed, not entirely sure if he was telling him this to comfort him, or to reassure his self. 

“Hurts.” Was all Marco could manage to get out between the sharp intakes of breath, and the whimpers that crawled up his throat as he rocked back and forth in disturbing throes. Mario clinched his fists. 

“I know, but you're strong. This is nothing you can't handle, Reus.” He wiped the sweat from his team mates face before standing, and giving a disapproving look to the culprit. Charlie Mulgrew. Thomas was already making his way towards the Scot, and without much thought, Mario joined up with him. He knew his gaze was heated, though it was only doing it's job of reflecting exactly what he felt. He was angry, he was furious, and so help him god if the bastard claimed it wasn't his fault. He knew injuries happened, yes. But how coincidental could it be to hurt someone who just came off injury, in the same exact place? Accident? He wasn't going to buy that. The Scot had done it on purpose, he reasoned. Even if every sense of logic in his head told him he was being paranoid; he needed someone to blame. He needed a scapegoat to lash out on.

“What the hell is your problem?” Thomas grilled as they approached Charlie Mulgrew, his team mates thick accent did little to hide his anger. Mario's hands were begging to be used in some sort of violent manner, but he restrained himself. Knowing Marco would be furious with him if he got sent off on his accord. This wasn't club football, this wasn't something his team could do without him. This was for his country, he had won his nation the World Cup; and he would be damned if he had to belittle his character. No matter how much he wanted too.

“I didn't do anything, it's his fault he is hurt.” The Scot stated with little to no emotion on the subject, Mario gripped the Scots arm.

“That's not true, you know it, and so do I.” He seethed, his hand tightening around the mans arm, Thomas gripped Mario's shoulder and pulled him back, making him relinquish his grip.

“So? What if I did mean to do it? Does it matter now? He is out of the match, and we still have time on the clock. Time to finish this, yes?” The Scots devilish grin made Mario's blood boil. He wanted to strangle him, wanted to make him plead for forgiveness, but that wasn't who Mario was; and he wouldn't give the older man the pleasure of releasing that side of him. Through gritted teeth, he called Thomas over to  
him.

“No matter what, don't let them near our goal. Take 'em out if you have too. We have to win this. I'm not letting that sick bastard have any glory, not today.” He mumbled under his breath, hoping no one else heard him. 

“For Marco? Count me in.” Thomas agreed, before jogging back to his field position. Mario glanced towards the sidelines. Watching his best friends face contort into raw fear, closely intertwined with searing pain. The brunette cursed before returning to his own spot.

“Yeah, for Marco.” He murmured to no one in particular. As the match resumed, it all felt like a blur. Something happened in their box, Mulgrew lashed out against the ball by kicking it out of play, and Mario had to fight the urge to laugh as he was promptly sent off for said actions. He did, however, catch the other mans eyes, and the German revealed his sickest of grins. The Scots eyes narrowed as he turned and walked off of the pitch, head hung low in mock shame. The play resumed again, this time, their attack came back to bite them. Thomas' shot hit the post; and ricocheted back to the feet of the opposing team. Mario felt his breath hitch as he sprinted down the field. He made brief eye contact with Thomas, who then sprinted at a speed the younger man didn't know he could, before pulling the attacker towards the ground. He knew he'd get a yellow card for it, so it didn't come as a surprise. 

“Taking one for the team.” Thomas claimed as he jogged to meet back up with Mario and the others. The free kick came, shot was made, and successfully countered by Manuel, and before the corner could be given; the final whistle blew the iconic three chimes. It was over. 

Mario gave Thomas a quick hug, and muttered a quiet, “Thank you,” In his friends ear. In which his team mate did nothing but nod his head. After a few simple waves to the crowd, he spotted Marco limping off the sidelines and into the tunnel, medics close by. Mario's heart hammered in his ears as he began to follow after his friend. He ignored his limbs groaning in protest, and ignored the grotesque layer of sweat that clung to his skin like glue. He had to make sure Marco was okay, that was more important than any temporary pain he felt. 

“Uhh...” Marco groaned when Mario caught up to him, just in time as the blond's footsteps faltered. The brunette beat the medical staff in catching him, his weight felt like a ton of bricks hitting Mario all at once. But more metaphorically than anything. The medics hands finally came out to help lift the older man as the group sat him on a chair, Marco's head fell back as they poked at his foot, tears that had threatened to show face on the pitch finally fell freely. Mario wiped them away before anyone noticed. He knew how much pride the Dortmund star carried, how he hated anyone even feeling sympathy for him, and he didn't want to make this any worse than it needed to be for him. Marco's eyes fluttered open when the smaller mans thumbs wiped away the liquid that cascaded down his cheeks. A silent thank you, of sorts. 

“Shit!” Marco surged forward when one of the medics pressed a finger, too deep, into the wrong spot. The medic just blinked, and shook his head, before continuing to examine the forwards leg; Mario felt his blood boil for the second time that night. 

“Would you stop doing that?” He hissed, earning confused stares from the teams physicians. “Clearly, he's in pain. Put ice on it, give him some medicine, and let him have scans done in the morning. Stop agitating the injury, isn't that what you always told us to do?” His banter didn't fall on deaf ears, thankfully, when the medic dropped his hold, carefully, from the footballers leg.

“He's right, we got ahead of ourselves. We're just worried of the extent of it, considering he just came back from injury. Get some ice, and the pain killers; and let's get him home for the night. Marco, come to Dortmund's facility in the morning for tests. For tonight, just take it easy. No walking on it, do you hear me?” The eldest of the men gave Marco a stern look, the blond only scowled.

“He won't be. I'll stay with him tonight and take care of him.” Mario said as he shot his friend a 'don't argue with me over this' look. He knew Marco well enough to know he would be furious for the rest of the evening, and left alone would try to do the impossible task of making himself better over night by ignoring the doctors orders.

“I didn't invite you over.” Marco spat, his temper finally flaring up at the thought of another extensive injury, Mario glared at him. The rest of the team finally filed into the changing room, exchanging concerned, tired, and nervous glances all alike.

“No, but I'm coming with you, regardless of what you say. You're in no place to deny my help, and there's not a thing you can do to stop me from helping you. Get mad all you want, but I'm staying with you tonight. Get over it.” Mario lashed out at his former Dortmund team mate. Marco opened his mouth to speak, but Thomas cut him off.

“Marco, we all know how much you hate sympathy, and I don't think Mario is trying to give you any. He's furious at Mulgrew, and the situation, but he doesn't feel sorry for you. He's your friend, let him be one for you. Okay?” Mario mouthed a quick 'thank you' to Thomas, and at the same time the medical staff came back with the ice and pills. Once Marco had swallowed two of the pain killers, and his ankle properly wrapped, they brought out a wheel chair; much to the blonds dismay. After sitting him in the chair, the pair told their team mates goodbye, many expressing their wishes for Marco's speedy recovery. Others asking him to call after the scans were run in the morning, the blond reluctantly agreed.

“Hey, you're not mad at me...are you?” Mario quizzed while he wheeled Marco towards his car; the Dortmund star shook his head.

“Of course not.” He admitted with an exhausted look on his face, the brunette felt a wash of small relief fall over him. When they arrived to his car, he slid his arms under Marco's small frame and helped hoist him into the vehicle. Marco groaned in pain as his ankle rolled on the floor board, Mario bit his lip to stop himself from apologizing. 

“Let's get you home, okay?” He whispered before carefully shutting the passenger side door. He made sure to wipe away his own tears before slipping into the drivers side and making the short journey to his best friends home. The next 12 hours were going to be tough, but he was just glad that the could be there for Marco this time around.


	2. But can I get myself out from underneath this guilt that will crush me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco has hate on his sleeve, and Mario carries a regret big enough to make the world seem minuscule.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ending turned out a tad angsty, and cutesy, and all I have to say is that my brain kind of wrote this for me. I didn't plan on ending this way, but ta-da. Prepare for a weird variety of feels. 
> 
> I HAVEN'T PROOF READ THIS. If you find any mistakes, please forgive me. 3 I'll fix them tomorrow.

“Let's take a look at these scans.” The Dortmund doctor said as he lifted the X-rays up, viewing them with an uneasy expression. Mario gripped Marco's hand, the older footballer stiffened when the physician let out a troubled sigh. The brunette rubbed small circles into the back of his best friends hand, trying to take away a small chunk of the worry that was written across his features. Last night had indeed, been very rough on the both of them. Marco had made a fuss over Mario helping him into the bath, but eventually settled down. Only then too make a big deal out of Mario helping dress him and help him into bed. The Bayern player only wished to help ease the burden for the blond, but it had been rather strenuous. Eventually, Marco had settled down. Allowing Mario to sit with him in his bed until he fell asleep; the younger didn't get any sleep that night, though. Instead, he lay awake, Marco's warm body pressed snugly up to his, as he contemplated why things were they way they were. He wondered why Marco had gotten a tad cold towards him, but on the other hand; he had a good idea as to why things were they way they were. 

“So...what's the damage?” Marco asked quietly, but his voice was loud enough to snap his brunette companion back from his revere. The doctor placed the scans on a lit up board as he pointed to a specific area of the forward's ankle. 

“Well, as we feared, the same ligament you injured before has been pulled and partially ripped.” The physician bit his lip.

“Go on, how long is he going to be out for?” Mario quizzed as he pulled up a chair so he could sit next to his former Dortmund team mate. He felt Marco begin to shake.

“Approximately four to six weeks. Depending on how well you fare; we will say four weeks for now, but may extend it during your time in therapy. I'm sorry, Marco.” Said man exhaled loudly, but Mario felt the small shakes turn into fierce trembles. 

“Marco...” Mario cooed as he stood up and hugged his friend tightly, the doctor nodded towards the door then took his leave. “It's okay, Marco...I promise, you'll be back on the pitch in no time. You're strong, stronger than I could ever be.” The brunette whispered into the blond's ear, the older man was tense, eyes fixated coldly on the screen that showed the severity of his internal wounds.

“Mars, this...” Mario inhaled sharply as his friend's voice began to shake and falter. “This isn't fair.” Marco murmured the last part, whilst letting out a hoarse cry. Before Mario could do anything, his best friend was a sobbing mess in his arms. Mario jumped up on the table behind his friend and allowed Marco to lay against his chest, he rubbed patterns into his back and whispered in his ear, “Everything will be okay.” But he didn't know if that was necessarily true. Yes, Marco would recover in just about a months time, but he had just gotten better. He had just gotten back into the swing of things, and now he had that security robbed from him once again. Mario didn't want to know what that was like, but he would have preferred this happen to him over Marco. The younger man sat there, dumbfounded, heart broken, exhausted, and becoming increasingly aware that his bus to Munich left in just an hours time. He realized then, he didn't want to leave anymore. 

“I think I made a mistake.” Mario confessed when his friends sobs turned into quiet whimpers, the man in the brunettes arms twisted so he was looking his friend in the face. 

“What do you mean?” Marco grumbled as he wiped tears away that Mario didn't know fell from his eyes. The shorter man only snorted at this.

“Leaving Dortmund, leaving the place that made me who I was; and for leaving you. The person who helped shape me into who I am today. Don't get me wrong, Marco. I love Bayern, I really do; but I loved this so much more. My talents are overshadowed there, I know I had the winning goal at the World Cup; but I'm no Robben, or Ribery, or Neuer. I'm me, and that gets looked over in a club that has so much talent that it doesn't know what to do with it...even if they do do something with it. I don't know...I just...miss being a fan favorite, I miss being...” He bit his lip, not sure what he was on about at this point.

 

“Wow, Mario. Making everything about you, again? Now this is the exact reason as to why we don't miss you at Dortmund.” Marco snarled, his words hitting Mario like a freight train. The smaller man slipped off of the table, eyes fixated on the floor; where black and yellow tile lay. Memories flooded his brain. Memories of days long since passed, but still near and dear to his heart. Ones spent side by side with Marco as they took their first step onto the pitch together. Ones where Mario was afraid he wasn't going to be a good footballer, but Marco proved him wrong. Days spent, wrapped together in warm sheets in sickly cold hotel rooms when the hotels air went out, he even remembers the ice that was biting window frames. He recalls the ocean waves, and how beautifully they lapped on his tan skin, and how luminescent they made Marco's pale skin look. He reminisces on the first time he held Marco's hand, as spontaneous as it was; the blond hadn't pulled away. The day he kissed his best friend also came to mind, as did the night Marco first pulled him by the hand into his bedroom; where they spent hours discovering new parts of the other. He also remembers the day he left for Bayern, how he agreed to remain his best friend, but never again would he call him his lover. Things were simple until they weren't. He knew that now. He felt a chilled hand press against his arm, it pulled him around to face it's owner, Marco, who gave Mario a sad expression. He vaguely heard the words, “I'm sorry.” Followed by, “I didn't mean a word of that.” But how could he not? 

“My bus leaves in fifty minutes.” Mario said flatly as he escaped the clutches of his ex team mates hold. 

“Then give me five minutes of your time?” Marco pleaded as he reached back out for the shorter man, who was just out of his grasp; in all meanings of the words.

“I don't know if I want too.” Was the brunettes icy reply, his words were spat out like the most toxic of venom, but it was all for the sake of covering the darkness he felt growing inside of him. 

“I see...” Marco whispered, dropping his hands to the table as his eyes fell to the floor Mario had been so fixated on moments before. Mario grimaced, watching his ex be in so much pain physically was torturous, but watching him collapse into emotional pain, that he caused, was unbearable. I still love this man, he thinks to himself as he takes a tenacious step forward. His heart pounded in his ears, his blood rolled thick in his veins; and like a predator approaching a wounded animal, he used a calm voice. His whirlwind of emotions were threatening to take over his exterior, but he willed himself to be strong, to test his will. 

“Marco...I love you. You know that, it scares me to think that you don't believe me anymore. Ann...Ann is a coverup, she knows it, I know it, and so do you; no matter how much you hate to admit it. This isn't about me leaving Dortmund, this isn't about being hurt, this is about you. I'm still all for you, and I told you that on that day. If I can't love you as a lover, then I will love you as a friend. No matter what you say, no matter what you do to me; I won't stop caring about you more than anyone else in this entire world, and so help me god if it's the death of me, then I led a good, devoted life. I want to kill Charlie Mulgrew, I want to heal your wounds, and make you see the good in yourself, like you always used to do for me. I want to hold your hand, kiss your lips, and make you feel things you didn't even know were possible; just like I used too. But I can't, and it kills me. I thought I could tell you this in Brazil, I thought I could get this part of me back, but I didn't get the chance. You can think I hate you, you can think I only want to be your friend; but you're lying to yourself, don't act surprised when I say this. I am leaving, Marco. I am going to Munich, and you are going to flourish and heal, and come back as strong as ever; with or without me. But I want to be there, I want to watch you prove everyone wrong. But we're worlds apart, it seems. So I'll spend the time I would with you huddled around a TV watching your games, by calling Hummels and asking him how you're doing, and by supporting you even when you don't want me too. I promise you this, you may find someone who loves you better than me, but you'll never find someone who loves you as much, and as true as I do. Now I'll say this to you, as I said on that day, you can either let me do that by being your boyfriend, or you can let me do that by being your best friend. I won't make you decide now, you have a lot to deal with. But my bus leaves soon, so I have to go now. Take care of yourself, and do what you know you can. You don't have to prove your worth, Marco. Just make them see what their missing out on, because I’ll say this much, you make me miss you even when you don't try too.” Mario stepped forward and placed a kiss on his dumbfounded friends forehead, before being brave enough to press a delicate peck on his lips. The sparks ignited within the fraction of the second that contact was made, and he would be damned if he didn't say that Marco Reus was a mesmerizing paradox sent to either entice or repel. Mario got so caught up in both that he had forgotten why he wanted to leave his lovers side in the first place, it was almost an overwhelming feeling of, 'you have to do this for you, and for him.' But it still didn't make a bit of sense in his head. Marco didn't say anything when Mario slipped out of the room, not that the latter expected him too. He knew Marco needed time to process what was going on to, and around him. Any sane person would. So when he made it to Bayern Munich's bus, he made sure his bags were already aboard and acted like he would if he was his usual self. He told the guys of his friends injury, and the duration of his leave; but he didn't mention the conversation they had. But why would he? He drifted off at some point, only to be awoken by Jerome who claimed he was bored to the point that death was almost certain. They chatted, took a few pictures, and Mario acted like a man with no inner turmoil. If he was transparent, he'd have issues covering it up, but Marco had always told him to steel his self, to make sure everyone knew you were okay; even when you weren't. His phone vibrated an hour and a half into their trip, Marco. He reluctantly opened the message, not expecting much from it.

Rolls Reus ;) :

Mario, I want to apologize for what I said. You know how I get when I'm hurt. In fact, I think you know me better than I know myself. You really get under my skin, but...I think now that isn't such a bad thing. Without that, I would have an ego the size of Africa, and I want to thank you for keeping me real, Mario. Not to mention, thank you for loving me. You've done a better job than I, or anyone else ever could. You may have broken my heart, but I let it get that way; I let you go. I couldn't stop you from living your dreams, so I can't say I regret it, but I regret telling you that you were only my friend from that day on. I want to make this work, so instead of being an observer, I want you to be part of my life. I know the distance is daring, but we've got technology, we have Holidays, we have the means to make ourselves even better than we were. I'm an idiot, Mario, but you don't seem to mind. For now, I will do as you said. I will recover in three weeks time, I'll make it work. I'll even listen to the doctors for once in my life. If you put up with me, I'll make you remember why you wanted to in the first place, I love you...

Mario smiled to himself, he hadn't expected a reply that quickly Though, he knew what Marco would say, it still came as a surprise. He knew Marco was wrapped around his finger, but it was the same way either way you looked at it. He typed out a quick reply, a simple, “I love you, too.” Mario couldn't help but chuckle, it was funny, he mused as he looked back on the events that had occurred in the last 24 hours. How he had gotten from Marco being hurt, to Marco being pissed, to Marco being his again, was beyond the stretches of his imagination. But perhaps this day hadn't been so bad, he still wanted to strangle Charlie Mulgrew, but apparently, the best things comes to those who wait; and even without Marco directly by his side, he was with him again. I've got all the time in the world, he thinks as he watches the city landscape fade and turn into a cluster of deeply shaded trees. He drifted off to sleep then, thoughts of Marco still fresh on his mind like they were earlier in the day, and like they had been since the day he had kissed his love goodbye. But those days were gone, he knew, even in his dreams, the world seemed a lot brighter; as if every doubt and fear he ever carried were dropped off along the road as he made his way towards Munich. Things were going to be okay, and for the first time in his life, he was absolutely positive of the true meaning behind the more than common statement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FIN. 
> 
> Well..what did you think?
> 
> P.S: Up next on the board of works will be a Schweinski fic, followed by a request. If YOU have a request, let me know, I'll be happy to fill it for you. ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/kudos are motivation for faster updates. (;


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